Condé Nast
by Lapis09
Summary: France wants to go on a vacation to New Zealand after reading about an interesting venue in a luxury travel magazine...but England isn't having any of it. Updated 23/02/3017 One shot/drabble, slight FRUK, T to be safe (mentions of sex, soft cussing), human names used, FACE. Summer theme. A mention of New Zealand (haven't put in character listing as he doesn't actually appear).


_A/N: Hi, and thanks for stopping by! Just a quick note - Liam = New Zealand in my head (Liam, lamb - get it? Haha. I know, it's kind of lame). This is just a fun little fic about the FACE family (although NZ is mentioned). Both country titles and human names are used throughout._  
 _Also, I do not own Hetalia or Condé Nast - if I did, it'd be one hell of a mess. Hope you enjoy! It's an old fic of mine, but I did try to tidy it up a bit._

 _I have put French translations at the bottom, but will add them here as well:_  
 _"Mon cher. Pourquoi pas?" = "My dear. Why not?"_  
 _"S'il te plaît, Arthur - dégueulasse" = "Please (informal), Arthur - disgusting"_  
 _"Non" = "No"_  
 _"Angleterre! Le petit mouton" = "England! The little sheep"_  
 _"Rien contre lui [...] pour le luxe." = "Nothing against him [...] for the luxury."_  
 _"Mon rosbif." = "My roast beef." (A term used by the French to jokingly refer to the English).  
-_

The blond let out a disgruntled sigh as he flicked over another glossy magazine page, "I still do not understand, mon cher. Pourquoi pas? It is the season for these things, you know." His eyes didn't leave the page as the Englishman scowled at him, "I won't and you can't make me. It's ridiculous, it's crowded, and it's expensive." Arthur took a sip of his tea and leaned back into Francis' ridiculous armchair. Everything in the Frenchman's house was too bloody tasteful - how could anyone be comfortable? It looked like something out of one of the other man's' beloved magazines - beautiful and sterile. Arthur was surprised that Francis would even rest his leather shoe up on his knee, considering how close it made his foot to the white sofa. The only room that he was comfortable in was France's kitchen, as it was the only room that looked lived in, but the Bordeaux weather was too warm to be sitting in there.

"Do not be so closed minded. We could really enjoy ourselves," Arthur almost gagged when Francis looked up at him wiggled his eyebrows, his blue eyes twinkling.  
"Disgusting." "S'il te plaît, Arthur - dégueulasse is a much better word, non? It has more flair." The Brit rolled his eyes and the other grinned before bringing his eyes back to the page. "I'm English and I'll bloody well continue to use English - even on French soil." He sniffed and refilled his cup from the dainty teapot that Francis had put on the table for him. "Besides, I'm not sure Liam would appreciate us dropping in. And by us, I mean you."

Arthur tried not to smirk when Francis looked up with a hurt expression, "Angleterre! Le petit mouton shouldn't have anything against me! He's never been anything but pleased to see me." The Frenchman continued to pout as the other country rolled his eyes, "Then, if you want to go so badly, why don't we stay with him?" Francis wrinkled his nose, "Rien contre lui, but I want to go pour le luxe." There was a pause before a wicked grin grew on his face, "And besides, you would not want your little Liam to hear you screaming in pleasure, non?" Arthur's cheeks flushed crimson and, in his sudden embarrassment, he pitched one of Francis' ridiculous throw pillows at him. This only caused Frenchman to laugh.

"HE WOULD NOT HEAR ANYTHING BECAUSE WE WOULD DO NOTHING OF THE SORT, YOU DAMN FROG!"

Once Arthur had taken a few deep calming breaths, and a sip of his tea, he put out his hand, "Give me the magazine - I'll look at it. Which one did you like in particular?" The other blond smiled widely and handed his English counterpart the magazine, "The large photo on the left, monrosbif."  
Arthur's green eyes scanned the page, nodding lightly to himself before choking on his mouthful of tea. His following words came out more as screeches, although he would vehemently deny the fact later on, "£1,580 for a DOUBLE ROOM? ONE-THOUSAND-FIVE HUNDRED-AND-EIGHTY-POUNDS FOR A SHACK? NO. NONO. NONONONONO. No, and that is final!" Francis reached out and grabbed his magazine from Arthur's flailing hands - the Englishman was going to have a heart attack one of these days, honestly.  
"Arthur, you are exaggerating. Listen to this lovely little blurb-"  
"For that price I will not!"  
"This remote, you like remote, half moon bay-"  
"I don't care how remote it is, it's the bloody PRICE!"  
"-has three minimally furnished bedrooms, bathrooms, and an eight-berth room of bunkbeds-"  
"MINIMALLY FURNISHED? BUNKBEDS? My sheets should be woven with bloody GOLD for what we'd be paying, with a king sized mattress!"  
"-borrow chef Paul Jobin from the homestead and he will prepare slow-cooked lamb shoulder and beef cheek with gnocchi and local Matukarara asparagus-"  
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, FRANCIS?!"

From outside, the yelling and shrieking could be heard loud and clear. The blond twins, who had been happily lounging in the water, continued to slowly kick their feet while watching from their pool floats. They could see Francis and Arthur fighting through the glass conservatory walls and acted as happy spectators.  
"Yo, Matt?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Do you think they've forgotten we're here?"  
"Yeah." Matthew took a sip of his beer, "Next year let's go to my place without 'em, eh?" The brothers clinked their bottles in agreement. This would be their last summer in Europe for a while.

-  
 _A/N: Hi guys - thanks for reading!_

 _This popped into my head as I was reading an old edition of Condé Nast Traveller (June 2015) - I love magazines, but I couldn't help but ask myself who the hell would pay to go to some of these places. Then the answer became very, very clear - of_ course _Francis would. Who loves luxury more than him?_  
 _I can't imagine Arthur liking hotels and spas and things - too much going on for him._  
 _Mattie and Alfie had to make an appearance because my wallpaper is currently a GREAT piece of fanart of Mattie asleep in a pool._

 _French translations (it shouldn't be too bad - I'm technically bilingual, but my French is a bit rusty):_  
 _"Mon_ cher _. Pourquoi pas?" = "My dear. Why not?"_  
 _"S'il te plaît, Arthur - dégueulasse" = "Please (informal), Arthur - disgusting"_  
 _"_ Non _" = "No"_  
 _"Angleterre! Le petit mouton" = "England! The little sheep"_  
 _"Rien_ contre lui _[...] pour le luxe." = "Nothing against him [...] for the luxury."_  
 _"Mon rosbif." = "My roast beef." (A term used by the French to jokingly refer to the English)._


End file.
